Her Baby Boy
by Susanna King
Summary: He was beautiful, handsome in ways that could bring her down to her knees, but his gorgeous appearance could in no way mask the insanity. The shiny weapons on the wall could never be forgotten, no matter how many flowers he gave her, or how many little candies or expensive acrylic paints he gifted her with. Maggie wasn't allowed to leave him. She promised. (Rated M, Oliver/OC)
1. Chapter 1

Lightly tanned hands picked up the small boy in front of her. He was crying weakly, his brother having punched him in the stomach for taking the little control to his car set.

"Stop it!" She said sternly, grabbing the other boy's shoulder with a firm hand. He had the gall to look ashamed, but it was very much insincere, he was only looking saddened because he was being scolded.

"If I catch you two messin' around one more time you're both going to be put in the goddamn corner. AND I'll have to tell your Daddy what you two did earlier in your class." Maggie threatened, looking at both of them, forcing out the smaller one's face from the crook of her neck where he had been hiding. "Oh yeah, I bet you thought your teacher wouldn't tell." She said lightly, letting it settle over them. Even children their age knew what a bargain was.

The two boys said nothing, just avoided her eyes by staring off at different areas of the room. She raised one red eyebrow expectantly. "Got it?" She asked, wanting an answer out of them.

"Yes." The two echoed reluctantly, though the older of the two sounded much more whiny than his little brother.

"That'll do." Maggie said, putting the boy down onto the floor. "Go play, I need to check on dinner for you two." And like lightening, the two were off, back to the middle of the living room floor to play with their respective toys, until they inevitably quarreled again. Boys, she thought fondly, holding her elbows and leaning against the wall before turning out of the room and ducking into the small kitchen, checking on the boiling noodles that the children's Mother had set out for her. The boys' parents were having a date night and wouldn't be back until very late, so they had called her over to watch them and prepare them for bed. Being a 25 year-old college student, she could use the money, so she quickly agreed.

Stirring the boiling pot with a wooden spoon idly, she listened for anymore signs of arguing and fighting from the boys. Thankfully, it was silent except for the two chatting and making sound effects with their toys.

Straining the macaroni, adding butter, milk and cheddar cheese. "Cooking is so much more relaxing than babysitting," Maggie muttered quietly to herself, stirring with a bit more vigor as the butter melted along with the cheese, giving her a bit of resistance as it became sticker. And it was relaxing.

Her eyes flickered to the clock on the wall, it was in the shape of a rooster and she found that very funny, and noted the time. It was almost six, she'd have to get the two to the dining room table. It wouldn't be that hard when she mentioned that she brought along a tub of ice cream for them to have afterwards if they didn't give her static when getting ready for bed. It was vanilla, but their Mother said they had a bit of sprinkles and a little jar of bright red maraschino cherries in the cabinet, so that should tide them over enough for to comply with her.

The red-headed woman picked out a green serving dish from the cabinet, scooping the finished macaroni into it. Then, the green beans and carrots she had been steaming onto a shiny leaf-shaped platter. She set the table neatly, leaving off a table cloth, as it was pristine and white now, but after dinner would likely have sticky fingerprints covered in cheese planted all over it. Three glasses were placed, only one actually made of glass (hers), and she had set out the green plastic cups for the boys.

 _No wonder their parents needed a date night_ , she thought idly as she set out napkins and silverware. _One nine year-old and another seven year-old everyday must be so exhausting._

Maggie placed a jug of milk and another of grape juice on the table, grinning when the idea to have them run around the house a few times to wear them out before their bedtime came to mind. It'd certainly be more efficient, but with a killer on the loose she'd likely not go through with it. The Bloody Face killer. What kind of woman could have created such a person? She must know, if she ever cast an eye towards a television set, that the man skinning all those women was her son, and it was inadvertently her fault that those women were now headless and dead.

Shaking away these morbid thoughts, the short woman leaned her hand on the wall, looking in through the hall towards the living room. But then, just before she was about to shout out for the kids to come for dinner, she _felt_ something. It wasn't a touch, but more like the feeling that someone was staring, _glaring_ right at you from across the room. But there was no one there, no one in the house except herself and the two boys.

Gingerly, she looked at the window that was framed by thin white curtains, seeing nobody there. Her shoulders slumped down, almost in disappointment before calling for Timothy and James to the dinner table.

The two whined and complained, but she only grinned and repeated herself. They slugged their way over and served themselves, eating messily.

An hour later, she was tucking the two into their bunkbeds. They were asleep by the time their parents came home.

"Thank you so much for watching them. I hope they weren't too much trouble for you." The boys' Mother, a taller woman clothed in a pink evening dress, asked her in concern over her tired state.

Maggie shook her head, just tightening her coat over herself to protect from the chill. "They were fine. I almost expected more of a fight out of them." She teased, a little fond grin on her face.

The Father, a man with very wide shoulders and who smelled like pipe tobacco, chuckled to himself before taking out his wallet and removing three bills. He handed them to her.

"Thank you again. Couldn't tell you how much this helped us. Goodnight Margret." He dismissed her kindly. She pocketed the money, wished them a goodnight, and turned on her heel down the little cobblestone walkway out to the curb.

The light from inside the house disappeared when they closed the door, leaving her in the cold darkness as she headed towards her car that was across the street. An old and slightly dirty light blue Delahaye that was kept in good condition by her Mother, who adored cars. But as she stopped in front of her car and began to rustle through her purse for her keys, there was the sound of footsteps behind her on the black pavement of the road. Maggie ignored it, thinking it was just someone walking past and hurrying home to their families. But then, arms were around her, a sharp pang was in her throat, and her vision went cloudy and black. She didn't even have a chance to scream.

* * *

When she awoke, she found that her eyes were already open. But there was still intense exhaustion weighing down her eyelids and making her vision skewed and extremely blurry. Lethargic, she turned in bed, pulling the covers tightly around her, inhaling their freshly clean scent which lulled her further and further deeper into sleep.

"No-no-no-no-no, wake up Margret." A warm, masculine voice came to her ears. Something was touching her face now, what was that? They were textured and kept patting her cheeks, interrupting her rest. She tried to turn back, back into the warmth and comfort of the blankets in her bed, but the man kept shaking her awake.

"You can't go back to sleep." He said. But when she opened her eyes, lids still heavy, everything was blurred and she felt very dizzy.

"Don't feel... good." Maggie murmured, mostly to herself as a question for what happened to her, her stomach churning when she tried to focus on the spinning she felt her body was doing. Around and around and around. She was going to be sick.

A metal bucket was placed in front of her and she grasped it desperately, hovering her face over it and abandoning the warm in favor of assuring that she wouldn't be emptying her stomach where she laid her head. The nausea still settled in her, but didn't allow her to give up her dinner, but remained a threat in the back of her throat and inside her gut. Feeling that gross feeling, she groaned into the tin pail, comforted by the warm hand rubbing circles on her back and the masculine whispers in her ear.

"I'm so sorry, this was my fault. I didn't expect you to react so badly to the dose." The words didn't matter to her right now, all that she was focused on was her pure exhaustion and the churning in her stomach. The lights in her room were too bright. They hurt her eyes, like staring at the sun too long. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a small complaint about the lighting.

"Your eyes will take some time to adjust." The man said. What felt like fingertips grazed over her eyelids, making her flutter them open. She saw the person who was helping her. He was handsome, _very_ handsome with dark hair and nice glasses on his face. Maggie could feel her face redden at the sight of him, embarrassed at how such an attractive (Doctor? Was she in a hospital? Had something happened?) person was seeing her with her make up likely smeared and her hair in a rat's nest. She reached a hand up, feeling her hair and brushing it down, trying to control it.

The man looked slightly in awe of her action, making her blush get hotter in the apples of her cheeks.

"You must be hungry. Over the past few days you've been unconscious, I've had you attached to an IV for sustenance." He said, getting up and removing a cover off of a plate that was sitting on a nearby round table. "I know that you like sweets, so I hope you'll enjoy these Margret."

A short stack of blueberry pancakes, drizzled with blueberry syrup was presented to her along with a tall plastic cup of milk.

She picked up the plastic fork that was set next to the stack. "Thank you." She said, though his handsomeness now didn't send her heart as racing compared to a few minutes ago. Still, it made her nervous. Like those handsome boys and professors at her college, the ones with those heart-stopping smiles and firm biceps that ignored her in favor of the pretty blondes. But him, all his attention was firmly on herself. Like a little boy looking through a toy store window, eagerly at the shiny possibilities inside. And she enjoyed it, the attention.

Maggie ate the hot cakes eagerly, surprised at how starving she was. She drank down the milk in small gulps until it was all gone and her belly was full. Looking around the room she was in, the redhead concluded that she was in some kind of hospital and this attractive man was her doctor. Whatever happened to her after babysitting for the Woods' kids caused her to need hospital care. Maybe she was hit by a car or lightning. Her Mother must have come by to see her, and spoke to the Doctor in front of her, told her about foods she liked and other things. How embarrassing if her Mother, a strong and almost manly woman, tried to coerce this handsome Doctor to be interested in her. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she's pulled that card.

Another thing that made her think her Mother had been here was the little vase on the table. It was full of white baby's breath sprigs. Her favorite flower, her mother knew. Maggie grew them in her window box back at her small house on Elm. Her Mother would always tell her she was an odd little bird for not liking beautiful red roses or pretty lilies and tulips. It was always baby's breath that she favored the most.

"I'm taking it that you enjoyed my cooking?" He asked, a smile on his face and written in his brown eyes.

She put her hand over her mouth, trying to make sure there was no sticky syrup clinging to the tiny amount of peach fuzz on her upper lip. He grinned at her, such a smile that made the apex between her legs start to tingle with excitement. She tried to scold herself, telling her mind that such a handsome man was probably married already or at least with a girlfriend.

"S-so, what happened to me?" Maggie inquired shyly, sitting herself up and trying to get her eyes to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting.

The knee-buckling smile on his face faded a tad, replaced by a hint of something she couldn't recognize as anything else but the look on her High School's Hall Monitor's face when he caught someone out of class.

"You reacted badly to the injection I gave you." He said again.

"What? I, I don't understand. Aren't you a doctor or somethin'? What happened to get me here?" She stuttered, watching the look on his face grow darker, making her body react in confusing ways. Half of her was aroused while the other half was frightened.

"Yes, I am a doctor. And don't worry Mommy, I'm going to be taking care of you here from now on." He said comfortingly, reaching over and taking her hand, rubbing his thumb over her skin. It was now that she felt something around her ankle that was much heavier than an identification wristband. It was made of thick, thick leather and connected by a chain. This wasn't a hospital, she realized with horror. This was her prison.

* * *

 **R &R**


	2. Chapter 2

"You're warmer than before." He murmured to himself, bringing her hand up to his stubbed face and he planted a kiss there on the meaty, unlined section of her pink palm. Maggie didn't move, too horrified at the sight of her tiny ankle wrapped up in thick leather, together pieced with a long shiny chain. Her skin underneath the leather cuff was bright pink and odd looking, like she had gotten a horribly bad sun burn and the skin had just begun to lift and peel back to make way for the fresh clean peach colored skin underneath.

"Ah, yes." Oliver said, following her gaze. "I didn't realize that your metal allergy would react to the new steel cuff I purchased for you, or that you'd react so strongly to it. It was a blunder on my part, I should have seen that as a possibility with how sensitive your skin is, so I replaced it with something strong enough but without the irritating properties."

Her leg twitched, feeling the leather rub against her. It felt odd, not like the leather of her Mother's belts or at all resembling the usual tanned cowhide's that she saw in town.

"I figure that the rest of _them_ would have some use." That settled deep in her and she squeezed the sheets underneath herself, staring intently at the brace on her in terror.

"W-what is that made of?" She whispered, all the muscles in her body tightening up in fear as her mind lead her to think about who was _them?_ Others? Girls who had been down here before her? She wanted to cry out, but her body was stuck on pause.

"Oh no-no-no-no-no, don't excite yourself like that. You need to stay relaxed for me." He said, getting closer to her and stroking down her messy hair, looked very pleased that she hadn't started crying like the other women he brought down there did. She was showing so much promise, far more than anyone else. She had even looked attracted to him when she first woke up, her eyes lingering over his lips and her heartbeat spiking faster. This excited him, he was happy about her reaction.

Maggie's breathing was starting to get heavier and quicker as she started to panic, despite his warnings. Oliver moved in, straddling over her smooth, warmly tinted legs before placing his hands on either side of her face, stroking the smooth skin of her cheeks and over her messy ginger hair. He hushed her, his eyes kind and warm despite the sudden vast chill that swept over her entire body when he straddled her. Tears still did not spill, but only welled up in her blue eyes, making her vision incredibly blurry with the water. He pulled her in with strong arms, letting her cling to him and his muscular upper body for comfort as her heart began to beat faster and faster with fear. Her hands grasped his white shirt, holding it in her fists and pulling it closer to her despite him being the one who likely trapped her down there. The smell of him, his cologne and aftershave was familiar to her. It was the scent her Father had worn before he left. Her body relaxed against her will, the scent's familiarity calming her.

He pulled away after a long minute of pulling her soft body against his harder one, holding her face in his hands. "I'll be right back here in a few minutes, Margret." He promised before planting a long kiss to her cheek. The slightest of stubble scratched her skin, leaving an itchy, hot feeling behind.

Oliver left her then, up the curved staircase behind the sheer white curtains that surrounded the area she was in. They looked new and out of place. Like something else had been on the metal pole before then and had been hastily replaced before she had awoken. She was left there to sit in shock, her hands laying flat on the comforter on her lap as she stared blankly ahead of her, the water in her eyes dissipating with each blink of her red lashes. The tough leather cuff around her ankle tightening around her with each slight twitch of her legs. The bright red ring of flesh underneath it looked like someone had been tending to it in her sleep, because it was smoothed over in the middle. He had been taking care of her when she was unconscious, Maggie assumed, which only lead to an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach of what else he could have done when she was out.

The chain shook, making sounds as she pulled her knees up to her chest. _I'll never see my family again_ , she thought dismally.

Never going back to her college days, never going to see to the end of her English degree. Never getting married to a tall brunette with two kids like her Mother so craved for her. She'd die in this basement by the hands of her handsome kidnapper.

She rose her hands up, pressing them over her chest, where her heart laid beneath. Instead of a prayer (She didn't even know any besides the prayer for eating bread), the ginger haired girl counted the seconds. When four minutes had passed, her captor returned, a hairbrush in hand. It was _her_ hairbrush, from her home. He had been in her small house on Elm, been through her things, taken things from her bedroom. It shouldn't have surprised her, surely if he was confident taking her off the street and keeping her trapped wherever she was, he had no problem breaking and entering.

He sat down next to her, her old silver handled hairbrush in hand, a shine in his brown eyes. She would have called him beautiful if it wasn't for the leather cuff around her ankle.

"Turn around, I'll count." Oliver said, his voice having an underlining tone of a demand. With that silent threat, Maggie slowly began to shift so her long messy red hair was facing him. The sound of the chain around her ankle jingled, like it was laughing at her, making fun of her. She hated it, more than anything. More than him. Her hands made fists in the nightgown that she was dressed in. It was high quality and old, but she couldn't take the time to think on it, because that would lead to her thinking of him undressing her and putting her inside of it.

He pressed his hand on the side of her head as he ran the brush through her mess of hair, somehow doing so without catching on any knots in her hair, working through them effortlessly. "One." He said.

"Two. Three." Oliver continued to count as her ginger hair was untangled and made wavy and soft again. He was so glad that she still smelled like she did when he took her.

He got to ten, then twenty and on, even after her hair was fully tamed, he ran the silver brush through her long hair. At one hundred, it felt like her stomach had just jumped into her throat, clogging the breathing she was doing and giving her a sharp jolt of terror. But the man behind her, the very attractive kidnapper, only just turned her back to face him now that her hair was no longer knotted and instead flowed down her shoulders freely. With clinical brown eyes, he looked her over, searching for the usual symptoms of his victims when they got past their fear. Plans to escape, usually. But she was still, with only the movements of her chest that proved she was still conscious.

With a disappointed breath, he scrunched up his large eyebrows. She was in shock. Of course she was.

Oliver got up from the bed, the springs groaning as his weight left it. He filled her empty milk glass with water at the side sink, washed it out before filling it again and handing it to her. "Drink this." He ordered, taking her hand and placing it on the plastic cup.

* * *

Maggie slept for a long time after he left.

There was nothing else she _could_ do. Try to escape? How? There was nothing, no way out but the front door. He would catch her and do who knows what to her afterwards? The cuff around her ankle was too tough to get through with just her hands and willpower. She was too far away from the things on the wall to reach any of them and pry the leather off, or the less likely possibility: Cut through them. Too frightened to try to leave, and too weak to fight her captor's wishes, she remained in the bed, limbs going numb and falling asleep on her a lot of the time. Oliver came during his lunch break the next day (Was it the next day? He said it was his lunch break, but that could have been to fool her.) and woke her up, a bouquet of blue baby's breath in his hand that replaced the dried out white bouquet on the table.

They smelled nice, but didn't bring her happiness. It was then she realized he liked to call her Mommy, and when he did he was very close to her, touching her over her nightgown and kissing her. She was glad he had yet to reach under her clothes, Maggie wasn't sure she would be able to stand that, despite the warm shocks his gentle touches sent between her legs. The feelings her kidnapper inspired in her body were odd and made her feel disgusted with herself. He was attractive, certainly. In fact, he was a beautiful man, with neatly parted black hair, a strong jaw and glittering brown eyes. But he _scared_ her at the same time. The shiny steel weapons on the wall were a constant threat. She was terrified of the day he would try to use them on her.

When he ended up bored of her, she could only hope that it would be quick.

Miserably, Maggie buried her face in her knees, finally, _finally_ bursting into tears. She sobbed at what had happened to her, what was going to happen to her. She wailed over never seeing her Mother again. Never seeing her friends again. She even cried over what would happen to her goldfish, swimming alone in his fish bowl. She cried for what felt like hours, until her throat hurt and her eyes felt puffy. Tired yet again, the slight woman settled back into the warm blankets that were becoming her safe haven to sleep away her exhaustive emotional turmoil.

She awoke from the feeling of soft lips pressing against her face. Her cheeks, her forehead, her lips.

When her lashes fluttered open, she saw Oliver crouched down beside her, his beautiful eyes wide and excited as her blue eyes registered him lazily. He leaned in and kissed her again, gently taking her lips with his. When she forgot who he was, and the kiss was nice. Maggie even participated in her daze, moving in closer and moving her lips against his bigger ones, the soreness she felt momentarily dissipating as his warm hands cupped the side of her head and pulled her in. She was lightheaded, the gentle buzzing caused by his kiss making her limbs feel even weaker. It took some genuine work to get her hand up to touch the man in front of her, resting her hand against his neck.

He moaned at the simple touch, eagerly pressing forward and pushing her back onto the bed, crawling on top of her. Oliver was thrilled in so many ways. With her compliance. Her potential. Her touch, gods her _touch_ , Margret was so soft and warm underneath him. She wasn't hard and impressively strong like some other women, her stomach and thighs were small and plush with the evidence that she didn't exercise. He buried his face in her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there and getting her to mewl in response, her hips moving up and grinding her core against his thigh.

Hungrily, he yanked down the front of her nightgown, buttons flying as it ripped down the middle. She had let out a shout of surprise when he tore her clothes. And now, she looked frightened.

"Shhh." He whispered, his hands rubbing along her sides comfortingly. The heat he felt against her body sent him to the stars with pleasure. But it didn't seem to have the same effect on Maggie, because her hands rose to cover her brassier covered chest. Her underwear matched, and were a pretty shade of lace pink that complimented her skin tone. He was pleased the set he picked out suited her so well. Oliver kissed her lips again while prying her arms away from his desired area. Her noises now weren't nearly as pleased as they had been, frustrating him to no end when she began to squirm and wriggle underneath him, trying to get away. But her face was flushed and he could feel the dampness between her legs on his thigh. So he pressed forward and continued.

* * *

 **R &R**


End file.
